


This Bed in Flames

by BasilHellward



Category: Constantine (TV), Hellblazer & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Chas tries bless him, Grief/Mourning, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, John needs to learn some healthier coping mechanisms, M/M, Post-Episode: s01e04 A Feast of Friends, Swearing, Unhappy Ending, Wordcount: 500-1.000, implied eating disorder, implied suicide ideation, ventfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2017-10-13
Packaged: 2019-01-16 10:31:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12340914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BasilHellward/pseuds/BasilHellward
Summary: John lies in the bed one of his oldest mates died in until he can't stand to anymore, until — what had Gary called it? Until anirresistible passionseizes him and he gets to his feet too quickly, his head spinning.





	This Bed in Flames

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Friday the 13th! This fic was inspired by the Rammstein song 'Wollt ihr das Bett in Flammen sehen?' (do you want to see the bed in flames?)  
> Unbeta'd and written on mobile, so if you see any spelling mistakes/grammatical errors, please point them out! Enjoy :)

It's been two weeks, four days, and seven hours since Gary died. Two weeks since he rasped his last breath and his hand went limp in John's. Two weeks since John's already tiny social circle closed further in on him with both the loss of Gaz and with Zed putting space between herself and John, finally seeing what he's capable of and running for the hills. He doesn't blame her.

John's hammered and lying in the very same bed where that last breath was rasped. Chas changed the sheets but John can still see the blood stains when he closes his eyes, still hears Gary's howls when he tries and fails to sleep at night.

He clasps his hands over his growling stomach, one still bruised. He hasn't eaten much in the last fortnight. He supposes he's torturing himself: lying here, starving. Trying to imagine how Gary had felt, crushing the bones in John's hand as he thrashed and screamed himself hoarse. As his body consumed itself. 

John lies still, resembling a corpse posed for a wake, and thinks about the coffin Gaz didn't have. About his unmarked grave a few miles out from the mill because John needed to distance himself from the situation. From his grief. Now, John wishes he'd kept Gary close so he could visit him without having to trouble Chas for a lift (he doesn't trust himself behind the wheel these days).

Instead, John lies in the bed one of his oldest mates died in, curling into a ball around the pillow that had propped up Gary's bleeding, mutilated head. 

It's not the first death John's caused, but Gary's hit him harder than even the first had. What he'd told Zed hadn't been exactly true: Gary wasn't just a car and a bank account to John. Maybe at first, and maybe to the rest of the gang, but John had loved him once. Really, truly loved him. Perhaps not as deeply as Gary had loved him in turn, and there wasn't fireworks when they kissed or a soul-deep connection when they fucked — but for John, it had been enough.

Now, he can't even recall why he'd pushed Gary away and broken his heart. He supposes he must have had his reasons, as unmemorable as they were — or maybe he's just crueler and more self-destructive than he'd like to admit. Either way, neither of them ever recovered from it. Newcastle was just the cherry on top of the shit-cake their lives had become thanks to John, and they'd both ran: John to America, and Gaz into the loving embrace of heroin. 

John lies there and feels sorry for himself, sorrier still at the knowledge his grief and regret doesn't compare to the hell he'd put Gary through, both emotional and physical — not only two weeks, four days, and seven hours ago, but from the first day they had met. John lies there until he can't stand to anymore, until — what had Gary called it? Until an _irresistible passion_ seizes him and he gets to his feet too quickly, his head spinning.

He pulls the mattress off the frame and tucks the pillow under his arm before dragging it across the mill. Stumbling, knocking things over on the way, he manages to wrestle it up the stairs and out the door. Leaving it in the over-grown grass and wild flowers behind the mill, he throws the pillow on top of it and goes back inside to grab a can of gasoline.

Chas has come out of his room, wondering what all the commotion was about as he returns fallen relics to their respective shelves and tables. He grabs John's wrist as he reaches for the jerrycan.

"What are you doing?" he asks in the same careful, calm tone he's used with John for the last fortnight. John _hates_ it, hates being tiptoed around like he can't handle being treated like a fucking adult. Like he can't take care of himself (because he can't).

"I've got to burn that bloody mattress, I just can't—" John breaks off with a shaky inhale.

"Okay," Chas says, nodding in understanding. "Do what you gotta do."

He lets go of John's wrist and follows him up the stairs.

"Can do it meself," John insists, shoving Chas with his elbow. Chas must have been expecting it because he doesn't react, just catches John when he staggers. "No."

John scoffs. "No?"

"Look at yourself, John. You're a mess. You don't eat or sleep, and you're shit-faced! I'm not letting you anywhere near a fire unless I'm there to keep an eye on you."

"Fine," John spits, knowing there's no use in arguing with Chas when he's made up his mind.

To his credit, Chas stays out of the way. John soaks the mattress in gasoline and sparks a cigarette before throwing his lighter onto it, too. He can get another one later when he's out drowning his liver.

Now that he's finally left the mill, he's reluctant to go back inside. He doesn't want to see Gary's jacket hanging over the back of a chair like it's waiting for Gaz to put it on and get far, far away from John Constantine. He doesn't want to catch a glimpse of Gary in the enchanted mirror, only to look back and see his own pathetic face.

Chas steps forward when the blaze is hot enough to sting John's eyes and places a hand on John's shoulder. "Do you want me to say something?" 

John shakes his head and takes a long drag of his cigarette. He watches the mattress blacken and burn, embers floating away on the breeze, and wishes he could do the same.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! If you have a minute, leave a comment telling me what you thought, I'd love to know. Constructive criticism is welcome! If you don't have a minute, just leave kudos ;)


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